


Sticks and Stones

by SunnyD (sunrize83)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrize83/pseuds/SunnyD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words really can hurt you. Post-ep for "The Fix."</p>
<p>Originally posted in 2005. Edited and reposted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks and Stones

"Well, well, well, would ya look at that. He lives." Smiling, Huggy braced his palms on the bar's highly polished surface.

Hutch wound his way around the tables and propped one hip on a stool. "You sound surprised."

Huggy shrugged. "Maybe not now, but . . . for a while there, we had our doubts." His keen gaze traveled over Hutch from head to toe. "How you feelin'?"

He was getting damn tired of that question. Hutch flung his arms out to his sides. "You tell me. How does it look like I'm feeling?"

Huggy raised an eyebrow at the sharp tone but took the question at face value. "In process, m'man. In process."

"Excuse me?"

"Better than you was, but not as good as you gonna be, if you take my meaning."

Hutch's gaze automatically rose to the mirror behind the bar. He inwardly flinched at his own too-gaunt face peppered with still healing bruises. Fighting back a sudden--and he knew irrational--spark of temper, he gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well . . . I just want things to get back to normal." He caught himself rubbing the tender flesh inside one elbow and jerked his hand away, flushing.

"Give it some time. Rome wasn't built in a day, and all that." Huggy pulled a glass from beneath the counter. "Care for little libation?"

"No thanks." He turned, surveying the nearly empty bar. "I was hoping I'd find Starsky here."

Huggy busied himself drying a few glasses. "Thought you two were bunking together."

"We were--are. I wasn't feeling well earlier, so I crashed for a bit. When I woke up, he was gone." Irritation surged again. "Who knows _where_."

"Probably just stepped out for a little fresh air." 

"He could have at least left a note. But I guess that would be asking too much."

"Maybe he figured you could use some time to yourself." Huggy's tone was mild, and he kept his focus on the glass in his hands.

Hutch snorted. "That would be a change. Ever since he moved in to play nursemaid, I can't turn around without bumping into him. 'How 'bout I make you some dinner? Are ya thirsty? Ya look tired--why doncha go lie down for a while?'" Hutch mimicked Starsky with deadly accuracy. "I can't even take a piss without him checking up on me."

"So why are you here?" Huggy set down the glass and tossed the towel over his shoulder. "I mean, if Starsky's been such a pain in the ass, seems to me you oughta be glad for the space."

"I was--at first. But he's been gone over five hours now, without a word."

"Why am I gettin' the feeling there's more goin' on here?"

Hutch pulled a hand down his face and cupped the back of his neck. "We got into it earlier." 

Huggy raised both brows. "Zat so?"

"I kind of lost my temper, said some things . . ."

"Sounds to me like maybe he's the one needed some space."

Hutch narrowed his eyes. "You know where he is."

"Go home, Hutch." Huggy turned away. "I'm sure he'll be back in the morning, safe and sound."

Reaching across the bar, Hutch snagged the back of Huggy's shirt. "Where is he?"

With a sharp twist Huggy broke the hold. His brown eyes were flat and cool. "He parked out back for a reason. You're the last person he wants to see right about now."

Hutch stared at him, his face slowly twisting in anger. "I don't believe this. Fine! He wants to sulk like a spoiled child, then I won't stop him. I'm outta here."

He was halfway to the door before Huggy caught up with him. "Would you listen to yourself? You're not thinkin' straight."

"I get it, Hug. Whatever Starsk told you has me playing the bad guy, so there's no way I can--"

"He told me nuthin'. 'Bout bit my head off when I tried indulging my natural curiosity. Said all he needed from me was a bottle of my finest and to be left alone." Huggy shook his head. "He didn't need to say the words. How long has it been since you looked at him?"

"I _told_ you, it was about five hours ago."

Huggy flicked a dismissive hand. "I'm not askin' when you two occupied the same room. When's the last time you took a really good look?"

"I don't know what you're . . ." Hutch trailed off.

When _was_ the last time he'd looked--really looked--at his partner? They'd been in each other's pockets for the last week, but as he searched his memory Hutch found Starsky's face was little more than an indistinct blur. 

"I . . . well, I . . ."

His heart pounded and a chill tingled up and down his spine. Though he'd weathered the most severe withdrawal symptoms during those first forty-eight hours, his ordeal was far from over. All week he'd felt on the verge of flying apart, certain that at any moment he might shatter into a million tiny pieces. Just functioning required an enormous amount of effort, leaving him in a perpetual state of exhaustion. He couldn't eat, couldn't concentrate for more than brief periods of time. And all too often his sleep was restless and broken by nightmares.

"So I've been a little distracted." He hated the acid tone to his voice.

Huggy wasn't put off. "This is probably none of my business--not that that's ever stopped me--but what's been goin' down between you two?"

_Ignoring his protests, Starsky placed the plate of scrambled eggs and toast onto the table. "I don't care if you're not hungry. You gotta eat, Hutch. Your body needs the energy--now more than ever."_

_Hutch shoved the food aside. "I'm sick and tired of you telling me what to do. In case you've forgotten, you don't have a medical degree, Einstein." He snorted. "Hell, from what I've heard, you barely squeaked through high school."_

Hutch winced, recalling the stinging sarcasm. Suddenly he was bombarded by memories of similarly biting remarks.

_"Your taste in reading material is as lousy as your taste in cars."_

_"How can you eat this garbage? No wonder you're getting so out of shape."_

_"That's real class, Gordo. It's no surprise you can't hang onto a lady for more than a few weeks."_

"I've been a little . . . hard on him."

"A _little_? He came in here lookin' like shit, Hutch--worse 'n you, and that's sayin' somethin'. What exactly did you say to him?"

_Hutch paced back and forth. "I'm going stir crazy, and you tell Dobey I'm not ready for duty? Thanks a lot, pal."_

_"All I said was that you could use a little more time." Starsky stepped into Hutch's path and placed a hand on his stomach, calmly meeting his furious gaze. "You're better, Hutch, but we both know you're not 100 percent."_

_Hutch shrugged off the touch. "That's bullshit! I'm the one qualified to know whether I can do the job--not Dobey, and not you. If I say I'm ready, I'm ready."_

_"Part of that job is protecting my ass." Starsky caught his wrist, bringing his hand up to where they could both see the fine tremors. "You can't handle a piece like this, Hutch. You know I trust you with my life, but . . . You're not up to it right now."_

_Hutch snatched his hand away. "At least I have an excuse. If you'd done your job and found me sooner, we wouldn't be having this conversation."_

"God." Hutch doubled over, bracing his palms on his knees. In his mind's eye he could see what his earlier anger had obscured--Starsky recoil as if struck, the color draining from his face.

"Whoa. Easy there, big fella." Huggy guided him to a nearby chair. "That bad, huh?"

How could he have said that to Starsky, the man who'd moved heaven and earth to find him, who'd held him through endless hours of sweat and pain, who'd never once lost his temper no matter how viciously Hutch had baited him?

"I have to talk to him, Huggy."

"You'll get no argument from me, my brother. I'm just not sure now's the time."

"Look, I know Starsky. By tomorrow he'll have himself locked down so tight I'll never be able to fix this."

Huggy ran a hand over his face. "No offense, Hutch, but . . . It won't do Starsky no good if you just wind up blowing your cool with him again. From what I saw, he's had just about as much as he can take."

Hutch gripped his friend's wrist, locking eyes with him. "I won't. It'll be all right, Hug. I promise."

Huggy snorted and pulled away. "Don't be turnin' that Nordic charm on me. Save it for the ladies." He gave Hutch a long, speculative look, then waved a hand toward the stairs at the back of the bar. "You know the way."

As he climbed to the second floor, Hutch was assaulted by memories, hazy and indistinct. Fear. Sweat. Pain. And underlying it all, Starsky's solid reassurance pressed along his back. 

He paused outside the room, listening, but heard only silence. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he knocked.

No answer.

Frowning, Hutch rapped again, more insistently this time.

"Beat it, Huggy. I told you--I don't want company."

The knot in Hutch's stomach loosened a bit. Though Starsky's words were heavy with melancholy, they were clear. Hopefully he hadn't crawled too far into the bottle. He tried the knob, found the door unlocked, and eased it open.

Starsky was sitting on the bed, arms propped on his drawn up knees, the bottle dangling from his fingers. He turned slowly toward Hutch and stared blankly for a long moment before stiffening.

"Hutch? You all right?"

That Starsky's first thought was for him, pure concern for his welfare despite the ugliness between them, shamed Hutch in ways Huggy's reproach never could. And crushed the last nugget of resistance.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Starsk? I'm fine." It came out harsher than he'd intended, the words roughened with emotion.

His partner's shoulders sagged and he looked away, taking a long pull from the bottle. "I need a little time, okay, Hutch? I'll be home later."

Now he could hear it--the extra care Starsky was taking to annunciate each word. Not surprising, considering the level of liquor in the bottle.

He stepped all the way into the room and shut the door. Though he kept his gaze fixed on Starsky, images flickered at the edges of his vision and angry voices echoed in his head.

"And let you drive that striped tomato while you're three sheets to the wind? I don't think so."

"I c'n take care of myself." Starsky glared at Hutch and deliberately took another swallow. 

"Yeah. I see that."

He could've kicked himself the minute the words left his lips, but Starsky just sighed. "I don' wanna fight anymore, Hutch. Jus' . . ." He caught himself, consciously slowed down. "Just please, go home."

He was making a mess of this--but then, he'd done nothing but make one mess after another for the past week. Hutch finally let his gaze wander around the room, allowing the memories free rein.

_"You say you want to help me, then help me!"_

_"Come on, do something! You know where the stuff is."_

_"I just want some candy."_   
_"I can remember a man who hated candy."_   
_"Oh, shut up!"_

"I'm not ready to go home just yet." He walked slowly to the bed. "And when I do, you're going with me."

"I don't know what you want from me. But I'm pretty damn sure I don't got it."

"I want to talk." Hutch plucked the bottle from Starsky's hand. "And I want you to lay off this."

He expected anger, but Starsky just ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I think I've had my fill of the first. And not nearly enough of the second."

Hutch set the bottle aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "Getting drunk won't fix your problems."

"Maybe not. But it makes 'em a helluva lot easier to live with." Starsky started to get off the bed, but subsided when Hutch placed a hand in the middle of his chest.

"We need to talk, Starsk."

"Yeah, I heard you. I just don't happen to agree." He shoved Hutch's hand aside and stood, wobbling a bit until he caught his balance.

Hutch grappled with his temper. "You've got to be the most stubborn, pigheaded . . . " When he realized Starsky was headed straight for the bottle, he snatched it up and flung it at the wall, where it exploded in a shower of glass.

Starsky gaped at him, then spluttered, "What the hell didya do that for?"

"I'm trying to apologize, you jackass!"

"You call that an apology? Hate to tell you, buddy, but your delivery could use some work!"

"I'm sorry!" They glared at each other, both breathing hard. And then Hutch saw it, the thing he'd glossed over while struggling to cope with his own pain: Starsky looked terrible. Though his partner might not be sporting healing cuts and multihued bruises, his face was too thin and washed of color. And his eyes . . . Hutch inwardly winced. Starsky's eyes held the same soul-deep weariness he himself had seen in the mirror.

"I'm sorry," Hutch repeated, barely more than a whisper now. "God, Starsky, I'm so sorry."

Starsky softened. "Forget it." He waved a hand as he turned away. "Water under the bridge."

Hutch caught his arm. "I didn't mean it."

Freezing, Starsky refused to look at him. "Sure you did."

"I haven't been myself, you know that. I'd never--"

"Look, if it makes you feel better to blame it on the withdrawal, that's fine with me." Starsky firmly extricated his arm from Hutch's grasp. "Truth is, you didn't say anything I haven't said to myself a hundred times." He slumped onto the bed. "Now how 'bout you send Hug up with another bottle. On your way out."

"This wasn't your fault." When he received no response, Hutch pulled up a chair and sat, his knees brushing his partner's. He fought a rush of déjà vu.

_"Who were they?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"What'd they want?"_

_"I don't know! You want to help me, you're my friend? Help me!"_

_"What'd they want?"_

_"Jeanie. They wanted Jeanie, and I . . . I think I told them where she was."_

Hutch shoved the memory aside. "None of it was your fault, Starsk."

Finally, Starsky looked at him. "You don't believe that, and neither do I. I'm your _partner,_ Hutch. It was my job to watch your back. Instead I made excuses, came up with reasons to pacify Dobey, when I shoulda been out on the streets looking for you. I let you down."

"Are you kidding? You saved me! Not just from Forest's goons--who were out for blood, in case you've forgotten--but from myself." Hutch ran a hand over his jaw; took a deep breath. "You and I both know that if Bernie had taken me in, my career as a cop would be over. I don't just owe you my life, Starsk. I owe you my job."

"Which would never've been at risk if I'd done mine."

Hutch sagged back in the chair. He was talking to a brick wall. Time for some hard truth. "You're wrong. If anyone is to blame, it's me."

That got Starsky's attention. "How do ya figure?"

"I broke rule number one." Actually, Jeanie had insisted he break it, but Hutch wasn't going to go there.

Starsky squinted at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Never keep secrets from your partner." When Starsky continued to look at him blankly, he said, "I didn't tell you about Jeanie. She was so afraid of Forest . . . If you'd known where she was, been able to contact her, you'd have figured out something was wrong a lot sooner." He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "And Forest would never have gotten his hands on her."

A light touch on his knee pulled him from darkness. "Hey." He opened his eyes to find Starsky leaning toward him, his expression warm with concern.

"What they did to you . . . Hutch, you didn't stand a chance. Cut yourself a little slack--you did the best you could."

Hutch let a slow smile curve his lips.

Starsky scowled. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

A breakthrough. Thank God. "Yeah, you did." Hutch stood and held out his hand. "So how about we cut both of us some slack and go home? I'll drive; we can pick up the tomato tomorrow." He pulled Starsky to his feet, hanging on until his partner steadied.

"'Kay." Starsky wove his way across the room, pausing at the door. "But if I gotta ride in that pigsty on wheels, then you're buyin' dinner."

Inwardly, Hutch cheered. Outwardly, he rolled his eyes. "Fine. We'll pick up a pizza on the way."

"With anchovies."

"Now you're pushing it."

Starsky tugged open the door, but Hutch stopped him before he could step through. "Starsk."

"Hmm?"

Saying the words was hard, but he owed them to Starsky. "Thanks. If it hadn't been for you . . . well . . . I'd never have gotten through this last week."

Starsky patted his stomach. "Now you're breaking rule number two."

Hutch frowned. "What's rule number two?"

Starsky grinned. "No soapy scenes." He started down the stairs. "Hope you brought plenty of cash. I'm starving."

Hutch smiled and followed. "Don't worry, partner. I've got ya covered."


End file.
